


Lavender Fields

by Spurandsaddle



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 17:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8900506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spurandsaddle/pseuds/Spurandsaddle
Summary: Prompt:Arwen/Eowyn post-war picnic in Ithilien





	

If there was anything more sensual in the world than Arwen's long fingers, Éowyn had no need for it. Longer and more dainty than those of her husband, they carded through Éowyn's hair with ease, rubbing small circles as they trailed down to settle on her shoulders. Arwen gripped her shoulders and whispered into her ear.

"so what did the kitchen pack?"

Rarely was her companion the first to mention food. Éowyn sometimes wondered if her eating on these little excursions wasn't more about propriety than hunger. Though she supposed Elves must eat regularly, everything ate. 

Arwen and Aragorn visited regularly, though not for long. Both had work to do in rebuilding and unless an excuse could be mustered, visits were limited to Aragorn's regular rounds of checking up on his kingdom. 

Éowyn pried herself from the comfortable embrace of her companion. Between the Queen's legs, sprawled on her like a lounge chair, was far from a proper place to be. Though with only the horses as witnesses their secret was safe enough. Pulling the wrapped food from Arwen's saddle pad, she frowned at its weight and hard form.

"There is no bread" Éowyn allowed the wrapping to fall away. "Why it's nothing but jam!"

Éowyn stared in confusion. It was not "nothing but jam." but a jar or Lavender plum jam and... a bar of soap. 

"Is the cook drunk?"

Arwen chuckled and rose, her movement's much smoother than Éowyn's own, even in her simple rough riding britches and a shirt pilfered from Faramir's closet. The courts would have a collective fit if they ever saw her like this. 

"I may have packed it myself."

Arwen's long fingers wrapped around the jar, releasing the seal with a pop. One long finger dipped into the jam, drawing out to disappear behind pale lips. 

Éowyn swallowed hard. Arwen closed the distance between them, standing so close that her breath brushed across Éowyn's lips and she could smell the sweetness on her breath.

"I believe the bread is in the other pack"

Éowyn blinked. "what?"

Arwen chuckled. "The bread. The bread is in your pack, Éowyn"

Drawing up to her full height, Arwen smirked at her and walked back to the tree, calling carelessly over her shoulder "Come on now, we must eat. We have a long afternoon of riding before we return home."

Eowyn felt she was missing something. She glanced at the soap, wondering whether it was another elven oddity she yet to learn.

“I hope not wanting to ride home sticky isn’t an elven oddity” Arwen called over from her new place on the blanket under the tree. 

Eowyn’s eyes went wide with realization. She looked over at her Queen, sprawled like a whore in her own riding pants and her husband’s shirt falling off her collar bone. She nearly crushed the soap. Arwen laughed at her, her Elvish voice tinkering in the treetops. 

‘Sod the bread’ Eowyn thought at her viciously, striding purposely to the tree and wrapping her arms around the giggling Queen’s waist.


End file.
